


Fairstuck

by Lovelettes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fairstuck, Fluff, M/M, a few unnamed characters but you can pretty much guess who they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelettes/pseuds/Lovelettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate Jake almost as much as you love him.</p><p>“Date,” you echo numbly.</p><p>He nods, green eyes wide and damn near sparkling, face still red from your previous actions.</p><p>“Yes. I'm—ahem—asking you on a date.” He tugs at his collar nervously, but his smile is still present.</p><p>Damn you, Jake English, damn you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairstuck

**Author's Note:**

> Blantant disregard for canon. Hey, this is an AU. What else did you expect?
> 
> This is my first Homestuck fanfiction ever, and I loved writing every minute of it. Please enjoy, my dears :)

**Be Dirk.**

You are now DIRK STRIDER, and you are currently wondering what the hell you're doing at county fair of all places. This place is too hot, too sweaty (and not in the good way), and too crowded for your tastes.

How did you get here again?

**Hours in the past, but not many...**

A predator looms in the shadows...

You are perfectly aware of said predator, but for once in your life, you are relaxed and stretched out on the futon of your apartment, eyes shut, shades pushed up on your head, limbs limp at your sides, 'Lil Cal resting on your chest. You frankly don't give a damn what this predator is doing in the background.

There's a shuffling behind you, but you keep on trying to ignoring it because fuck it, you haven't had enough sleep. And that's due to a particular predator who shall-not-be-named.

You will yourself to slumber, force your tensing muscles to relax again, and eventually begin to drift off. You're dreaming of nothing when you are jolted out of that peaceful blankness by a sudden presence.

You're fast; you're sitting up when you catch the hands of the predator, gripping them tightly. You suddenly remember where you are, who you are, and who the predator is. Your hands loosen, thread through the hands you caught, and you fall back down on the futon.

Cal falls off your chest, and you inwardly cringe and apologize silently to your best friend, yet you make no move to pick him up. You find your current position too favorable to change.

**Dirk: Be the predator.**

You are now the predator—

Wait just a moment, buster! You are not a predator by any means. Well, at least not to your boyfriend. He tends to take that position, what with the random strifes and tendency to move in a ninja-like fashion.

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and to reiterate, you are not a predator.

Currently, your boyfriend is lying helpless (maybe helpless?) beneath you. The thought of it alone is enough to make you flush and imagine millions of explicit situations, but you refrain from acting on those thoughts and leave it to the reader to think of an alternate version of this particular scene.

“Strider! I got a proposition for you, chum,” you say, and you can't contain the grin that begins to spread on your face.

Dirk looks up at you, face unreadable even in the absence of his shades. You take this as a cue to continue.

“There's this brilliant fair a few miles off from here,” you tell him, grin becoming a simple smile. “I believe it'll be quite the event!”

Dirk's burning orange gaze continued to stare up at you, his face still impassive.

And now you're a bit nervous. Even though you know Dirk rarely shows his emotions, even though you know his silence is better than an outright rejection, even though you know that he would voice displeasure at attending such an event (for reasons that elude you), you still can't help but to feel that small prickling sensation in your spine.

“Would you do me the honor of coming along with me to the fair?” you ask, your smile apprehensive.

He mouth twitches slightly, and you can't tell if it was a hint of a smile or a hint of a frown. “No thanks.”

You allow the disappointment to show on your face. “Oh, come on, Strider!” you exclaim, face growing hot in embarrassment. You had so many things planned out, and you've never been to a real fair before. “I promise I can show you a good time!”

Dirk smirks, amusement in his eyes, and you rethink your choice of words.

“I-I...er...”

His hands are on your hips in an instant. “Good time?” he repeats, and you notice his voice has taken on a teasing tone. “We could stay in for that. I must admit, I never pegged you for an exhibitionist, English.”

Your face is red for a different reason now. “That's not what I meant, Strider!”

Dirk pushes your hips down to his, grinding up against you. A groan escapes your lips, and you curse the fact that he still has that damned smirk planted firmly on his face.

“You don't have to wine and dine me to get this.”

Your glasses slip down your nose as Dirk's eyes close briefly, reopening them only when another groan rips out of your throat. They flash with a mixture of desire and fiendish delight. He knows what he's doing to you. He's distracting you so that he can get out of leaving his apartment again.

No. He's not getting out of this one. Even if your mind is fogging up and you're forgetting your objective, you won't allow it.

He's still grinding into you when you manage to say, “You know what I mean. I...I want to ta-ake you ou...out—stop that!”

“Nah.”

And Dirk keeps right on smirking which causes you realize that, despite how attractive that is on the normal basis, it's downright infuriating when you're trying to ask him out on a date.

“Strider...Strider...I say...you...stop...Dirk!”

And he ceases at the sound of his name.

“Yeah,” he asks, but it doesn't sound like a question. It resembles a “hurry up and say what you've gotta say so we can actually get somewhere here.”

“Dirk,” you begin, realizing that saying his name keeps him at full attention. “I'm trying to ask you out on a date.”

His smirk drops, and his face becomes stoic again.

**Jake: Be the stoic guy.**

You are now the stoic guy, and, let's face it, you're not actually that stoic.

On the outside is a carefully composed mask, but on the inside, you're a mess. A stupid, stupid mess. On the inside, you're blushing like a fucking anime who was just noticed by their senpai.

Jake English has no idea what he can do to you. He has no idea what kind of power he wields over you. Your brain is mush, your heart is beating rapidly, and all you can think to do is layer a mask over your features so as not to clue him in on the hurricane wrecking your insides.

You hate Jake almost as much as you love him.

“Date,” you echo numbly.

He nods, green eyes wide and damn near sparkling, face still red from your previous actions.

“Yes. I'm—ahem—asking you on a date.” He tugs at his collar nervously, but his smile is still present.

Damn you, Jake English, damn you.

You've been on dates with him before but never a public one. You've made him dinner that you like to think of as pretty five-star level stuff in your apartment and watched some of his god-awful movies on your television. Later on you would retire to your bedroom after a sloppy make out, and sometimes you would never make it off that too-comfortable spot on the futon.

“So...what do you say...Dirk?”

You're starting to think that he's privy to your weakness of your name on his lips.

Of course you want to say yes, but you won't give him the pleasure of seeing you undone until later. Besides, you can make this current position work to your advantage.

Plastering a smirk on your face, you say, “I'll say yes, but I have a condition.”

Jake looks at you doubtfully but expectantly. He knows you would never give in so easily. “Yes, Dirk?”

“I have a problem I want you to take care of.”

His face flushes darkly; your smirk deepens.

**Dirk: Be the flushing guy.**

You are now the flushing guy, and, damn it all, you should have expected this!

“Bollocks.”

“Exactly.”

You have got to work on your word choice.

You crawl off Dirk and kneel beside the couch, knees bumping 'Lil Cal, face hotter than before. You move the puppet away from you and look up at Dirk with resentment that's completely contrived because, let's face the facts of life here, you really enjoy this and everything that comes with the territory.

And look at it this way, at least he's technically saying yes.

You heave a sigh and readjust yourself to a more comfortable position.

“Don't worry,” he tells you, “I'll take care of yours too.”

Damn him...damn him...

What you do for love...

**Jake: Take care of Dirk's “problem.”**

You push his shirt up, lips lowering to plant gentle kisses to his stomach. His muscles tighten as your mouth caresses his skin. There's a sharp intake of breath from above you. His hand is suddenly in your hair, massaging your scalp.

You decide to tease him a bit as payback, and so you trail your fingers down his stomach, stroke his thighs, outline the bulge of his jeans with a single finger, and finally palm him through his jeans, the latter of which elicits a soft moan.

You're perfectly aware of the power you hold over him. Perfectly. Aware.

Your hands go for his pants next, fingers loosening the button and working the zipper down at an agonizing pace. You slide your palm down his chest, down, down, down, slipping beneath his boxers, grasping him—

**Jake: Be Present Dirk all of a sudden.**

You have no idea why the author skipped that juicy love scene but whatever. The point is you are now Present Dirk and the reader now knows how you got into this current situation.

A few hours into the past, but not many (we've already done that schtick once, let's not do it again), you were dragged here and forced to participate and witness events that make you strangely proud and strangely ashamed of being a Texan.

You are currently standing by the dunk tank as you wait for your boyfriend to return, eying the guy jeering you. His sister, who's selling the baseballs used to dunk that asshole, is apologizing for her brother's insults and assures you that you are more than attractive and that she's sure that you're intelligent.

While you're waiting for Jake, you suppose that it would be okay to play his game.

You stride over to his sister and buy a single baseball. She asks you if you would like more, and you tell her that you're perfectly fine with one.

The asshole continues to jeer, and you're proud to say that you didn't break face for one second. Really, it was a cheap trick. You've been to a fair with your bro before when you were younger, and you know how these dunk tank guys are. But instead of firing back in a condescending manner like he did, you remain quiet, placid, and throw the ball lightening quick.

It hits the center of the red swirled target, and he sinks like a rock.

You return to his sister, inwardly amused by the string of profanity released by her brother as he struggles to get back on the platform. She smiles, and you can see the satisfaction on her face when she asks you to select a prize.

You scan the rack of stuffed toys, not particularly caring what you get. You spot a stuffed blue monkey alien-thingy from one of Jake's favorite movies, and upon remembering his affinity for ladies of cerulean complexion, you select it.

Jake comes back a few moments later and hands you a ridiculously sized stick of pink and blue cotton candy.

“Here's your candy floss,” he says, grinning as he bites into his own.

“Cotton candy,” you correct, and you're not quite sure why you did that.

He shrugs and continues to devour his. You begin to squeeze the unsexy stuffed blue alien lady-monkey (how is this attractive? seriously, it doesn't even have a plush rump), and you suddenly become just a bit nervous.

Now why would you be nervous? You are a Strider. Striders are never nervous.

And so you shove the noseless, assless, cerulean primate woman into his chest right before you realize that you're acting like a fucking anime again.

You don't say anything as the bemusement spreads over his face in an attempt to win the cool points you just lost back.

But then that stupid grin of his returns full-force, and you can't help but to allow yourself a small smile.

“Golly, thanks, Strider! This is just tops! You remembered my passion for Avatar! Looks like you really do pay attention when I'm reviewing films.” He keeps grinning as he tucks his prize—the prize you won for him—under his arm. He continues to munch on the cotton candy and takes your hand. “I might have to return the favor!”

As he leads you away from the dunk tank to some location unknown to all of us except for him, you notice the booth worker smile and blush at the two of you. You give her an even smaller smile, but you know that she noticed, and you know that she's going to go home and write about the two of you.

You allow Jake to lead you to another fair game dubbed “WATER GUN FUN” by an obnoxiously loud banner.

Speaking of obnoxiously loud, you notice that the guy Jake is setting up next to has an obnoxiously loud friend—from the sound of it, perhaps his boyfriend—standing behind him complaining for all to hear.

“This is astonishingly and excessively idiotic, and I believe that we do should something else!”

“Thhhthhh, K.K.! I'm trying to do thomthing romantic for you!” he says, pushing up his cool—though not quite on par with yours—shades.

“Which is astonishingly and excessively idiotic, fuckass!”

The only thing astonishingly and excessively idiotic, you think, is wearing a black turtleneck in 100+ degree weather. God, it's hot.

The woman behind the counter hands Jake a water gun, smiling and making a fishy water pun that, no doubt, everyone who has played has heard today. Jake turns to you, points the gun at you, and winks.

You smile at him, and it's still a small smile. “You have this, bro.”

He grins again, and you feel like punching him. Jake fucking English and his dorky grin. Damn him for being handsome. Damn him.

Jake smokes the competition easily, and even though it was just a stupid water balloon that popped, you still felt your heart throb awkwardly when he did it. You felt proud of him. You push up your shades for a moment just to look at him clearly. You take in his broad back, his tan skin, his stunning profile, his plush—

You put your shades back down and wipe the sweat from your brow before he turns around.

Jake's smiling again and holds a stuffed-something out to you. Your smile is unbridled and immediate when you take it. It's a horse— no it's a pony— no it's Rainbow Dash.

It's no smuppet, but it's— oh who are you kidding? It's friggin' perfect. It's perfect just like the guy you're with. Absolutely perfect in so many ways.

And look at this pony. She's so spunky <3

“I'll never understand why you like this sort of thing—” Jake begins.

“Just like I'll never understand your thing for blue babes,” you interject.

He guffaws and kisses you on the cheek, and you keep smiling. He takes your hand gently, threading his fingers with yours and begins tugging you away. “Finish that up, and then we'll go ride some things.”

You look at the cotton candy and then back to Jake and then back to the cotton candy. You like it, but it's not your favorite, especially at this size. “Right,” you say, and you begin to work on the cotton candy as he takes you away.

In the distance, you hear that arguing couple from earlier.

“You should try the pumpkin pie they have here,” you say, and that's weird because you're never chatty. “I remember when my bro took me here. We would buy three or four and eat and eat until we were ready to puke up our esophagi.”

Jake slows his pace considerably and smiles at you. “Was it as good of fun as we're having now?”

You think for a moment. As much as you idolize and respect your bro, this was something you never fully had with him. Connection. You had a connection with Jake, you had his trust, and he had yours.

And so you smile again. “Never.”

God you love this guy.

He pulls you toward the Tilt-a-Whirl, and you realize that finishing this cotton candy would be a bad idea that ended well for no one. You pull Jake to a halt and scan the fair. You spot a couple of familiar faces standing by the tables at the pie-baking contest, and you pull him in that direction.

Jane is perfectly still, glancing nervously between the pie in front of her and the judges. You know she has nothing to worry about; she's got this so far down in the bag she can't even find it.

Roxy is next to her, arm slung over her shoulders and a suspicious water bottle in her hand, face nuzzled in her neck as she slurs encouragement.

“Janey, you totes get—got—this, yea.”

“I hope you're right, Ro-Lal,” she says, eyebrows knitting together.

You nudge Roxy, which brings her and Jane's attention to you, and hand off the cotton candy, which she accepts without question.

“Oh 'n gee, Strideerr! Tell Janey she has got that—this!” she demands, pawing at your arm.

“You have this, Jane,” you tell her. “Dough runs through your veins as thick as blood.”

Jane smiles slightly. “Thanks. I'll try to remember that.”

Jake begins rambling off about her pies, about how absolutely stupendous they are and ends up yammering about your date due to a strange lead-up from the subject of pumpkin pie.

“Well, if you're on a date,” Jane tells you, “then you must ride the Ferris Wheel after the sun goes down.” Her smile is anything but worried now.

Jake frowns and repeats, “After?”

Roxy swats at him. “Don't cha know 'bout every—anything, Jaaake? It gets all pretty and lit up at night. Romantic. Me and Janey are gonna ride it!”

Jane blushes but doesn't deny it.

Jake assures them that they'll do just that, gives them the double-pistols-and-a-wink, and starts back towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

**== >**

Hours in the future— no you're not doing that again.

It's a few hours later when the sun sets, and you spend that time hand-in-hand with Jake watching it.

After spending the entire day together cuddled up to him on rides (which didn't even call for the ridiculous amount of physical contact you had with him), sampling the fair foods, sharing that amazing pumpkin pie you promised him, and watching Jane take home the blue ribbon, you're ready to crawl into bed with him and maybe (yeah sure let's go with that) go to sleep.

You just have one last thing: the Ferris Wheel.

After that, you can call it a day and go to sleep— oh who are you even kidding? You're going to go back to your apartment and give him the night of his life in return for the day of your life.

The two of you are watching the sky turn orange away from the noise of the fair, resting on a grassy knoll. You don't talk much as the sun sets, but, then again, you rarely do. The silence is too comfortable between you two, and the looks you give each other says more than enough. Besides, Jake can do enough talking for the both of you when he gets on a tangent.

The stars begin to peek out as the sky grows dark, and you realize that you almost fell asleep against Jake's chest. When did you two even lie down?

Even though the stars are starting to brighten, you find yourself unwilling to untangle your legs from his, unwilling to lift your head from his chest, unwilling to remove your hand from his.

But you sigh when you realize that Jake is fully awake and ready to go the instant he notices you moving. You mumble something about not wanting to walk, and Jake laughs.

“I can carry you like a dame if you prefer,” he offers, grinning his stupidly handsome grin again.

It's a tempting offer, but...

“I'm up. Let's go.”

You rise up together with him and begin your quest to the Ferris Wheel. Your hand never leaves the warmth and comfort of his, and that's more than okay with you.

You board the Ferris Wheel, knees bumping his accidentally. He bumps you back as the worker secures the bar across the seat and suddenly it's a knee fight. And it's cute and playful and it doesn't stop as you ascend.

Before you reach the top, you put an end to the mini-strife by reaching over to remove his glasses on an impulse. Jake holds still and allows you to do so, smiling just a bit sheepishly. You kiss him between the eyes for acting cute. Yes, cute.

Jake reaches over with the intention to remove yours, and your heart speeds up just a bit more. You're already feeling like you're floating; you're ethereal and weightless and you don't care who sees you as long as you have him by your side.

You briefly wonder when you became so cheesy.

Jake removes your shades, eyes meeting and looking in a gentle stare. You feel exposed, you must admit, without the protection of that tinted glass, but you feel close to Jake, closer to him than any other person alive. Jake knows you, you know him, you know each others hearts and weakness and strengths and dreams and fears. None of this was ever judged, ever reviled, ever laughed at. Only accepted, only understood. And that's how you know that you're made for him and he for you.

Sometimes, you think, cheese is okay.

**Dirk: Ascend to the highest point of the Ferris Wheel.**

The Ferris Wheel stutters to a standstill as you reach the top. Oh, cliché of clichés this is wonderful even though it's brief.

You can see everything from up here, though the view beside you is impossibly more attractive than all the lights of the fair and all the stars in Texas. You're holding his hand, and you're unashamed. You love Jake English, and you don't care who knows it. You'll burn down cities and raise the oceans for him just to show him how much you care.

And then he kisses you, and you think that the warmth from it is enough to cause a volcanic eruption.

It's hard for you to give a verbal profession of your love, and after you did it the first time, you're not sure that you want to go through that embarrassment again. He knows how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings; you're an incredibly private person.

But you're willing to try again for him.

You break the kiss (you were both in desperate need of air anyway) and rest your head against Jake's. His stunning emerald eyes lock with yours just as you recall that your eyes were covered the first and last time you told him. And then that stupid tidal wave of nerves hits you again. You don't even bother to deny it anymore. It's fucking nerves because this is the real deal.

Though it's not like you would have it any other way.

You whisper, voice low and quavering slightly, “I love you.”

Jake smiles again, and it's heart-melting. Oh well, not like your heart was intact in the first place.

“I love you,” he says, and there goes anything that was solid left of your heart.

You press your lips to his, and this time the kiss is hotter, more passionate, more open. Everything's open: his heart, your heart, your mouth, his mouth. His tongue dips inside, sliding against yours, tangling and tangoing. You moan quietly and lose your hands in his hair.

Idly, you remember that you're still holding onto his glasses, and he still has yours. You find his other hand and take your shades from him, wedge him between you and the metal side of the Ferris Wheel seat, and place both of your glasses on the other side of you.

Now that both hands are free, the two of you put them to work. The work is leisurely, calm, but soon becomes more frenzied, desperate. Gentle touches mature to heady groping. Soft stroking of hair develops into rough tugs. Sweet and passionate kisses ripen to risqué meetings of tongue and teeth unrestricted to mouths.

Your head drops back as Jake leaves ardent and borderline-vulgar—what the fuck do you mean “borderline”?—kisses along the column of your neck. He pushes the collar of your shirt down and bites your skin gingerly at first, teeth slowly sinking in and clamping down harder. You groan as he sucks gently through his teeth, tongue soothing the reddened spot, and you slowly become aware that there would be a mark there tomorrow.

Then your conscious mind reminds you that Jake took extra care so as not to leave the mark in a noticeable place. The thought warms the superheated liquid remains of your heart and cause you to push him away so that you can take control and kiss him hard.

Jake English is a fatally sweet human being, and you're not sure if you'll survive the rest of the night.

But you don't care; you just keep kissing him and kissing him and running your hands all over him in reckless abandon.

The ride jerks into motion again, and you both jolt, having forgotten where you were temporarily. You knocked foreheads when this happened, and now you're just staring at each other in slight embarrassment. Jake is the first to crack a smile and then releases a snorting laugh. You would feel offended had he been laughing at you, but he's laughing at the situation. You think that it was rather funny as well, and so you chuckle a bit. You join hands with him again, smiling unrestrained.

As you descend back down to Earth, you keep laughing, keep smiling, keep holding his hand.

**Dirk: Be Future Dirk.**

You are now Future Dirk, and you're currently stumbling into your apartment in an awkward lambada with your boyfriend. After leaving the fair, you were feeling pretty heated. Jake himself was tugging at his collar the entire way back. It was amusing to see him jump and flush each time you dared to lower your hand past its place on his hip, squeezing the flesh tightly and whispering “plush” lowly in his ear. He nudged you away, face burning bright red.

As your hands roam and his hips grind against yours, you feel your self-control slipping. You lose your shades in a hurry and remove his glasses in the same beat. You want him to look you in the eyes when he drives you past crazy; you want him to see what he does to you. You're feeling bold tonight.

You're not sure if you'll make it to your bedroom at this point, but who gives a flying fuck. You're here with Jake English, your perfect boyfriend, and that's all that really matters.

He lifts you up—taking you completely by surprise—and pushes you up against a wall, crushing his chest against yours, capturing your lips again. Your legs hook around his hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support, and you briefly wonder when he got this strong. Was he always this strong? Your hands slip under his shirt, and you feel his muscles working to hold you up.

You forget what question you were asking.

Jake breaks the contact of your mouths and places a small saccharine kiss on your lips, smiling, and carries you off to your bedroom. All thoughts cease. Your eyes are as melded together as your bodies, and your minds are functioning as one.

Nothing really matters except him.

Nothing at all.

**== >**

The next morning you awake in hazy sort of bliss. Jake is pressed against your back with his arms hooked securely around you, his hands intertwined with yours. There's something plush wedged between his stomach and your back, and you realize that at some point Jake must have retrieved the blue alien she-beast you won for him to cuddle with. You almost roll your eyes at him (because seriously? he has you for that) before you remember that Rainbow Dash is planted firmly between your chest and arms.

Okay, so maybe you're both a bit dorky in some ways. You wonder what 'Lil Cal would think if he knew that you liked cuddling with stuffed toys. You like to think that he would understand like he did with everything else off-beat you do, just like all best friends do.

Jake shifts behind you, breaking you out of your thoughts, and mumbles something incoherent in your ear.

“Jake?” you whisper just in case he's asleep.

“Good morning, Dirk,” he says, and he's using your name again.

“'Morning.”

And you're both silent for awhile, and it's still comfortable for a brief amount of time.

You have something on your mind, but you're just laying here turning it over in your head. You work your jaw for a moment, wondering if you speak the words dancing around in skull. But you think about Jake and his openness, and you think about your desire to be just as open with him.

“Jake...” you say, “I had fun. It was...really...really fun.”

You can practically feel Jake beam behind you. “I'm glad, mate,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. "Guess we'll have to do it again sometime. I promise our next date will even more extraordinary.”

There's that word again: “date.” You have such a weakness against it, just like the one against your name.

Then he's kissing your neck, and you know that it's him that you're weak against.


End file.
